


To Love a Stranger

by StarRise



Category: Transformers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarRise/pseuds/StarRise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are always two sides to every story. Some sides are more honest than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"So they will accept no other terms?"

The Praxian Ambassador shook his head, his optics dim with weariness as he looked at his lord. He had spent orns trying to negotiate other terms and failed on all counts. "No. We have tried everything, and we cannot afford to not have them standing behind us. They are the only buffer between us and the unrest of Kaon. My Lord- it would be my recommendation that we give them what they want before some beats us to it."

"There is a reason we have a limited time frame?"

"The ruling family has only a single creation, my lord. A mech, full frame for almost a vorn now. If someone else were to arrange a bonding…"

The Ambassador let that hang, allowing his lord to reach his own conclusions. The ruling Lord of Praxius settled back in his chair as he pondered the implications, considered the pros and cons of each option, and weighed the consequences. His optics wandered to the window, the scene outside of the mansion one of peace and prosperity. But the lord was not blind, nor was he ignorant.

Just like his sparker and his sparkers' sparker he knew what was going out outside of his palace walls. He knew of the still quiet unrest that was spreading through the population of his city-state, fueled by the rumors of unrest to the north. The transition of power from the old Prime to the new had been abrupt and unexpected. Rumors were flying and fueling the unrest. There was talk of war and rebellion in some places. His people needed peace, and a least some assurance of safety. While not even a family tie could prevent all danger, it would certainly grant them a buffer and a measure of security.

But to offer one of his creations- Bluestreak was still young and innocent, just recently having reached the age where he would start taking on the youngling level responsibilities of the future Lord of Praxus. His femme creation was just a sparkling, and the she was the light of his life. In the past age had been a minor consideration in the overall scheme of arranged bondings, but he was not about give either of them up.  
He tapped his fingers on the desk, the rhythm an attempt to focus his wildly spinning thoughts.

The Ambassador watched his lord, sensing his lords discomfort and having a very good idea of what going through the noble's processor. He had been at this job far too long to not have a read, and he could tell that his lord was not pleased with any of the possibilities. But he had anticipated this, and he had a plan.

"If I might make a suggestion my lord, there may be an alternative."

The Lord of Praxus glared at him. "You said that the only thing they would accept was a bonding. What alternative is there but to offer one of my creations?"

"There is always your sisters creation."

Lord Streetwise straightened in his seat, optics brightening at the suggestion. "He is not of my line…"

"But he is a member of your family, the ruling family. That is all they have demanded. They never said it had to be the of the direct line…" The glare from his lord stopped what he was going to add to that.

The lord let it drop. "Make it so."

"As you wish, my lord."


	2. Chapter 2

Jazz was sulking. There was no other word for it.

Obligations.

Responsibilities.

If he heard those words directed at him again he was going to haul off and hit someone. Which was why he had employed his considerable evasive talents and made it to one of his bolt holes. In a little while he'd head back to the compound, back to his family and his future. But right now he just needed to think. Clear his processor.

Moving up. That’s what they were calling it to try and make it better, soften the blow. His creators loved him, he could see how uncomfortable the whole topic made them while they had talked.  He knew that his city-state was in trouble. Their location made them undesirable trade partners. They did not have many in-demand resources. Things had always been hard and lately they had just been getting harder.

He knew very well that if there not located where they were, on the boundary between the north and the south, then the glorious city-state of Praxus would have no interest in them. No one ever had before.

He wanted no part of this bonding. He wandered the streets far more than his creators knew, a good thing considering his carriers tendency to worry, and he knew what he wanted. He wanted what was between his creators. Their’s had been a love match, and daily he could witness the l affection between the two of them. Their support of each other was one of the reasons that Polyhex was still standing at all. Their bonding had not been one of politics and convenience, and it showed.

He had seen political arrangements as he wandered the streets, ones made for various reasons. Some of them worked, many more of them did not. And there were other arrangements that he had seen, like the one between his creators. Arrangements where the two bonded individuals seemed more like one spark. Where they loved and cared for each others. He would look into these homes from the outside and he would be envious of what he saw. Even the poorest of homes in the lowest parts of the state were filled with happiness and light.

He wanted that. He wanted someone who wanted him for who he was.

He had harbored a hope of having that for himself. His creators had never tried to influence him one way or another in the matter, never informed him that they had plans for him. Until a week ago when that negotiator had shown up from Praxus.

Pompous, populous, prosperous, rich Praxus. A Praxus that needed them now with the transition of the new Prime and the unrest that was bubbling up during the transition.

A flicker of something passed before his optics moments before exploding against the wall beside his head. Startled, Jazz flinched away, flattening himself on his rather precarious perch as the shouts from the street below reached his audios. Listening, he quickly determined that none of them were actually directed to him, and he had merely almost ended up as collateral damage.

Shifting carefully along the rooftop Jazz managed to locate a better vantage point, looking down on the conflict flaring in the street below. Studying the surrounding area he couldn’t pinpoint a reason for it, and the garbled shouts were not offering any real explanation.

The shouting didn't bother him much. The punches thrown and the missiles exchanged, missiles consisting of whatever was close at hand, did trouble him. By the time the units that made up the local Enforcers arrived there was damage everywhere to buildings and beings with no end in sight.

Responsibility.

Obligations.

Cycling deeply to center himself Jazz skittered off along the rooftops, quickly and quietly. Things were spiraling out of hand. These were his streets. These were his people. He didn't really give a damn what Praxus wanted from them, but what his people needed from him was another story.

It was time to go find out more about the ruling family of Praxus.

 


	3. Orders

Prowl stood silently at attention.

Lord Streetwise looked at the young mech standing before him, seizing him in and not trying very hard to hide his distaste. Most beings would have considered the mech rather handsome. He stood tall and straight, with plating polished appropriately for one of his station and marked with the symbols of his rank among the Enforcers. His coloration was attractive, white on black with a red chevron accenting clear blue optics. But then, his carrier had been a looker too. And one who had lacked discretion and any concept of decency or propriety.

"Prowl."

"My Lord." The mech answered, bowing his head to just the appropriate inclination, tone void of emotion or feeling.

Lord Streetwise leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. Sponsoring the mech with the Enforcers had been the right way to go. It had gotten the youngling out from underfoot and given him a purpose in life, it had also stopped him leeching from society, like so many other mistakes.

It had also served in teaching him proper respect and his place. No more was that that longing in those optics for an explanation. In fact there was nothing in those optics any more. The lord found this immensely preferable.

"Your training is complete, and your service had been noted as satisfactory."

The barest flicker of the doorwings was the only response he got, the mech before him not raising his optics, and Streetwise continued. "You have one joor to pack your things and say whatever goodbyes you have to say, and then you will travel to the main transport hub. My aide will be waiting for you there with further instructions."

Prowl waited several kliks to make sure that the Lord of Praxus was finished before responding. "As you command, my lord.”

***

Prowl stood silently at the transport hub, travel bag at his peds. Packing had been easy. He had entered his training with little, and he was leaving with little more than he had come. As for his goodbyes- he had made the rounds, offering the proper words of respect and gratitude to his mentors and instructors, and blessings of the future to those he had worked with.

They had said the proper things in return, commending him for his hard work, but none of them had been sorry to see him go. In truth, Prowl had not been sorry to leave them. The job he had come to know, the place were he finally felt like he sort of fit, he would miss, but not them.

He did not know where he was going. His tactical computer was busy computing locations and reasons, assigning odds to each scenarios and ranking them in order of probability, but it was more an exercise to keep him busy and in practice than an attempt to find an answer. It didn’t really matter, in the end. He would go where the lord commanded and do as he was ordered. He had learned long ago that this was the best course of action when it came to matters of his life. Asking questions just got him in trouble.

He had no family. No history, no status. It had been made very clear to him that if the Lord of Praxus had not taken an interest in him, sponsored him, there was a good possibility he would have ended up in the streets. Just another drain on society like the mechs and femmes he arrested.

A mech appeared before him. "Prowl?"

Prowl nodded in acknowledgement.

"I am Smokescreen, Praxian Ambassador. You will come with me."

Prowl picked up his bag and followed obediently and without question. It was not his place to ask question.

 


	4. Tradition

Jazz stood obediently behind his creators in the front hall of their compound. He had done his homework. The Lord of Praxus had two creations, a youngling mech and a sparkling femme. Both of them were considerably younger than him, but Jazz was hoping for the mech. The age gap between the two of them would still be considerable, but it wouldn’t be quite as scandalous as the femme. Oh, he knew when it came to arranged bondings the consideration that vorns might pass before the bond was finalized was a minor consideration. But he was still going to raise a little bit of fuss if that was the femme they offered his creators for the match.

The door opened admitting a mech that Jazz identified as the Praxian ambassador that his creator had dealt with from before. The mech approached them slowly, and Jazz leaned to the side in an attempt to see around the ambassador, hoping for some glimpse of his intended bondmate.

Disapproval and irritation poured off of his creators in sudden waves and Jazz jerked back to attention. He glanced at his sparker out of the corner of his visor, trying to get a better read on what had set his creators off.

"Our understanding was that Lord Streetwise had agreed to a bonding."

"My lord has agreed to the bonding, and is offering a mech of the ruling family." The ambassador replied smoothly, the words slipping off his tongue with controlled ease. "The offering has arrived with me. However, Praxian tradition dictates that those in an arranged bonding do not meet before the bonding ceremony. For that reason we require to remain undisturbed in private quarters until the day of the ceremony."

Jazz could feel the sub harmonic growl from his sparker. A small part of him echoed the sentiment. He wanted to meet this mech they were expecting him to join with for the rest of his life. He wanted to know what he was getting into.

On a deeper level that he did not want to admit existed he wanted to know that the sacrifice he was making with this commitment was worth it. He kept telling himself that his people were worth it, that his state was worth this- a potential lifetime of unhappiness. But words without substance were hollow, and he had seen enough unhappiness to dread the possibility.

            "My lord is giving up one of his own family." The ambassador replied, un-intimidated. "I am sure that we can be accommodated in this, at least."

The Lord of Polyhex stood in silence, testing the resolve of the mech before him, then reached a decision. "You will be given what you require. But the ceremony will be Polyhexian."

The ambassador bowed in acknowledgement. "So was expected, since it is to take place in your illustrious city-state. The date is also at your determination. Our only request is that as soon as a date is set I am informed, so that my lord can make arrangements to attend."

"It will be done. A servant will be sent to direct you to the quarters you have requested, and one will be provided to see to your needs."

"The Lord is most gracious, as always." Smokescreen answered, offering a small bow as he turned away.

 


	5. Listening in the Shadows

Jazz balanced on the balcony outside his creators’ quarters, listening in on their conversation. He knew they would be angry if they caught him, but at the moment he didn’t care. It would not be the first time that he had done something to warrant their disapproval, and his punishments had never lasted long in the past.

"I cannot believe the Lord did not come himself."

That would be his carrier.

"It does not bode well for us, or for Jazz." Lord Perceptor agreed, settling heavily in a chair. "I am not sure I completely understand the situation. I have been informed that at least the ambassador is not lying to us- everything that he has requested is within Praxian tradition. If the ceremony were taking place in Praxus they would insist that Jazz be hidden away until the time of the official bonding."

"But you would not have sent him with nothing but an advisor." The Lady Moonracer protested. "No guards, no servants, no family, not even a friend."

"None that we have seen." The Lord said, even if he did not sound like he believed his own defense.

"None." His mate countered, sure of herself. "I asked the servants who are attending them. They escorted two beings to the quarters- the ambassador and a cloaked and veiled stranger. No one else has come or gone save the servants assigned to them, and none of them are even allowed in the room. They have to hand everything through the door."

The Lord sighed, becoming less pleased with the situation by the klik, stress growing as his mate got to her feet and started pacing the floor. She stopped by the window, looking out over the city and causing Jazz to duck farther back into the shadows, even though he was sure that she could not seem him from this angle. Her voice, softer now but still strong enough for Jazz’s sensitive audios to detect, drifted into the night. "Do we have to do this?"

Lord Perceptor hesitated, quiet for a long time. "We need their help. Our state is failing, despite our best efforts. The cuts, the plans, the blackouts and rationing- it's all not enough. Add in the current unrest…This arrangement it will bring in new resources, open new channels…Jazz understands that."

"Should we demand a meeting with the intended?" The Lady asked, turning to her mate in desperation. "The ambassador only said that the two intended could not meet, nothing about the rest of the family-."

The Lord shook his head. "I do not think it would be allowed. I think the best thing we can do it set a date for the bonding ceremony soon. That will at least end this waiting and uncertainty."

Jazz watched as his carrier left the window and headed for his sparker, falling into the red mechs arms. After a moment of contemplation, Jazz slipped from his place, heading back to his own rooms. He had learned enough for one night, and past experience told him creators were through talking.

 


	6. Bonded to a Stranger

There were few buildings that were maintained in their original state, but the temple of Primus was one that the inhabitants of Polyhex had banded together to save. In a time of trouble everyone needed something to believe in, and if you couldn't believe in your leaders, there was no reason to not believe in a deity. The worst that could happen is nothing, right?

Jazz stood nervously at the front of the chapel. He wished with all of his spark that this was a private ceremony. Or at least a small one. But when one was the only creation of the Lord of a city-state, and when one was bonding to a mech that no one had seen yet, circumstances insisted that it be a public affair.

Fear coursed through his circuits, and combined with the nervous energy being generated by his systems if something didn't happen soon Jazz was afraid he was going to bolt. He might have already, were it not for the supportive presence of his carrier and sparker standing just behind him, and the stern, watchful optics of the Lord and Lady of Praxus facing them.

They had arrived the night before, alone save for guards and a few servants. Offers to arrive earlier and stay longer than their intended departure tonight as soon as the festivities were concluded had been met with polite but firm refusal.  Lord Streetwise insisted that he could not be away from his post for so long, and the Lady quietly explained that she did not wish to be parted from her mate.

Jazz knew that his own carrier had voiced some choice and rather heated words on the matter once the visiting nobility had retried to the quarters provided for them. Separate quarters, it was noted, from the ones provided for their creation, which caused even more confusion.

It had also really started Jazz thinking. Was their creation such a monster that they wanted nothing to do with him? Is that why they were so willing, even eager, to place him in a politically arranged marriage? And then there was that fact that no one had seen him since he had arrived. Was he deformed in some way, scarred and ugly to look at? Were they ashamed of him?

He had managed to find some images of the ruling family, and the pictures he had seen of the young mech were attractive enough. There hadn't seemed to be anything out of the ordinary about him, and further research had turned up nothing about him having any sort of functioning or processor issues.

Music starting, catching everyone attention and drawing it to the back of the chapel. As Jazz turned he almost glitched in surprise, the reaction echoed by his creators behind him. The mech standing at the entrance to the chapel was nothing like the one he had seen in the pictures. This mech was tall, his paint striking black and white, red chevron contrasting with brilliant blue optics. No youngling this, but a full-frame adult. Had he missed something in all of his searching?

The music changed again and the mech started making his way down the isle, and Jazz was struck by his movement. It was quiet, confident and smooth with no hesitation, no stuttering in his step.

The march ended and Jazz was hard pressed to keep his jaw from dropping. The mech bowed smoothly twice, once to the presiding priest in an appropriate show of respect, and once to his own creators! Lord Streetwise nodded once in stern acknowledgement of the recognition, but offered nothing else. No approval. No support. It was almost like the Lord of Praxus expected such deferential treatment from a member of his own family.

The mech turned to face Jazz, and Jazz's spark fell to his feet. The optics were clear and well lit, the sign of a healthy frame. But there was no life in them that he could see. There was no sign that this mech shared any of the emotions coursing though Jazz at the moment. No hesitation. No trepidation. No excitement, even.

The priest started the ceremony, voice formal and stern as he repeated the traditional litany. Jazz paid no attention to the words until he heard his sire speak.

"We do."

The priest turned to the Lord and Lady of Praxus. "And do you, Lord Streetwise, give this mech of your house to be bonded?"'

"I do."

Jazz had to suppress a shudder at the cold satisfaction in the Lord’s voice.

The Priest looked at the mech facing Jazz.

"Do you, Prowl, creation of the ruling family of Praxus, enter into this bond willingly, taking this mech standing before you as your bonded until you rejoin the Well?"

"I do." Prowl replied, voice even.

"And do you, Jazz, creation of the ruling family of Polyhex, enter into this bond willingly, taking this mech standing before as your bonded until you return to the Well?"

No! Jazz's processor screamed even as different words left his mouth. "I do."

"Then in the name of Primus and in front of the witnesses gathered here I declare these two to be bonded."

 


	7. A Single Act of Kindness

"Dearspark."

Jazz jumped and stared at his carrier. She hadn't called him that since he had reached fullframe.

Lady Moonracer looked up into the visor of her only son, studying it carefully before pulling him into a gentle embrace. "You don't have to go in there tonight. Just one more night. Tomorrow you can get to know him. Then-."

Jazz leaned his helm forward, resting it against hers for a brief moment, understanding what she was trying to say and stopping her from saying any more. Her words were tempting, so very tempting. He could leave the mech alone, be selfish and take one more day for himself. One more night of safety and security in the life he had known, in his old quarters where everything was familiar and welcoming.

But just as Moonracer couldn't put everything she wanted to say into words, neither could he. Jazz had been watching the mech, Prowl, his bonded by law, during the celebration. Never once had the mech expressed any sort of emotion, positive or negative. And when the Lord and Lady of Praxus had departed Prowl had seen them off, but none of them had seemed sad at the parting. At least not until the official transport was out of sight and Prowl was left standing alone.

It was then that Jazz had stopped watching the mechs face, because something else had caught his attention. The doorwings, held stiff all this time, had twitched and quivered. It was only for an instant, but it was enough to rouse Jazz's suspicions that the mech was not as entirely as he seemed on the surface. He might not spend the entire night, but he wasn't going to leave him alone either.

 

***

 

Prowl looked around the quarters he had been told were now his. His to share with his new bondmate, he corrected quickly. Everything seemed wrong, somehow out of place, and it suddenly registered why.

Everything was new. He walked among the rooms of the suite, doorwings twitching as he reached out with all of his senses. Everything was stiff and clean, practically screaming that fact that it had never been used before. He supposed it made sense, but it was still disconcerting. He couldn't ever recall having anything new, really. The smallest of frowns crossed his face as he made the rounds again, and his doorwings drooped.

Everything was new, nothing used.

His travel duffle was missing.

The ambassador, the mech who had been watching and instructing him on his new position in life these last few orns, had told him to leave it in the quarters he had been using. Prowl had assumed it would be moved. Apparently he had assumed wrong.

For a moment Prowl wondered if he could find his way back to those quarters. If the servants hadn't thrown it out already there was a chance he might still rescue it. His logic center insisted that he shouldn't bother, that there was nothing of real value in it, and logically there was not. But his emotion center argued otherwise, and this time his emotions were winning.

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought, and he tapped the opener. An old mech stood outside the door, and he looked up at Prowl before bowing his head quickly. "Your pardon."

"There is nothing to apologize for." Prowl stared down at the back of the mechs helm, "Is there something I can do for you?"

The mech twitched in surprise, and belatedly Prowl realized that was the wrong thing to ask. He was a noble now, at least in name, if not in habit.

"No, young lord." The mech hesitated for a second, than held out the item he held. "I found this in the disposal, and thought that perhaps it had been misplaced…"

Prowl stared. It was his duffle. He took quickly. "Thank you. It was missing."

The old mech bowed again, and something in Prowl moved, an old memory of another time and place where someone had dared to do something kind for him. As the mech turned to go Prowl called after him, "Your designation, please?"

The old one paused, looking back at Prowl indirectly. "I am merely an old mech, young lord." And with that he was gone, leaving Prowl alone.

And in the shadows at the end of the hall, Jazz watched the Praxian hold the bag a little closer before closing the door.


	8. Sharing a Game

 

The door opened, and Prowl's optics came up to meet the visor of the mech that had stood across from him in the chapel of Primus that day.

Jazz stood in the door and looked into the optics of the mech who had stood across from him and agreed to be his bonded that day, and was lost for words. He took a step forward, allowing the door to close, and looked around the room as he searched for something to say. After a few minutes of studying the room Jazz made a mental note to see if he couldn't arrange to have some older stuff brought in. He wanted an old chair from his quarters, for one thing. It was the most comfortable place to curl up on a nasty day with some energon and a book file.

Motion caught his attention, and Jazz decided he had hesitated long enough. "Prowl, right?"

The mech nodded, but made no other motion as Jazz visibly looked him up and down, stopping when he reached the bag at Prowls feet. "Is that a gameboard?"

That was not a question Prowl had been expecting, and he found himself answering without completely processing the reaction. "Sovereign."

"Ya play?" Jazz found himself relaxing just a hair as he found something he recognized. It wasn't a lot, but at least it was a neutral starting point. He hoped it was a neutral starting point. Maybe in Praxus Sovereign was a serious thing?

Prowl nodded mutely, thinking to himself that since it was his board the fact that he played was implied, but he wasn't about to say something so out of line. Of course he knew all the facts about Jazz. Those had been drilled into him from the time he had been told what his new role in life was. He knew the young lord was an only creation. He had known old Jazz was, how tall he was, everything that was public fact, before he had ever seen the mech. But he knew nothing of Jazz that made him Jazz. Maybe the polite inquiry was some sort of private test?

Jazz motioned toward a side table, large enough for them to set up the board and play comfortably. He stood back, letting Prowl set up the game of strategy and taking the opportunity to study the other mech some more. Observant gaze noted everything, from the gentle reverence with which Prowl handled the board to the meticulous care the Praxian took in setting every piece neatly and properly.

Play started, but no conversation that was not directly related to the game. Prowl found himself relaxing as he sank into the game, his world becoming a place of move and counter move that was second nature. Jazz found himself growing antsy, wanting to say something but once again lacking actual conversation. He was also loosing miserably. Miserably was an understatement, in fact.

But as his gaze flickered to his companion between moves the changes in the mech seated across from him became evident. The doorwings weren't so stiff, and while there was still no definable emotion in the blue optics they weren't consistently flat, flickering every now and then at a move, and once he would have sworn he saw he mech frown at least once when Jazz went out on a thin limb with a move that ended up backfiring.

Suddenly loosing wasn't so bad, and neither was the silence.

 


	9. Who Am I?

Chapter 10

 

"Is Prowl not going to join us?"

Jazz looked at his carrier in surprise, then looked at the empty spot at the table. The morning meal, something they rarely were able to indulge in as a family unit anymore, was more than half over and the Praxian had yet to make an appearance. Guilt assaulted Jazz as several thoughts occurred to him all once. "I never invited him to breakfast. And even if I had, he probably has no idea how to get here."

His sparker and carrier both looked at him. "Is he that bad then?" His carrier asked softly.

"Nah." Jazz answered quickly, the Praxian mechs interaction with the old servant and their following game of Sovereign from the night before still very close to the surface of his processor. Things had still been awkward when Jazz had excused himself, choosing to spend the night in his old rooms, but all of the fear that he had been harboring was gone.

In fact, as Jazz examined the spot where the fear had lived recently, there was actually a hint of excitement. No one was pushing at them now that they were bonded in name, and he was actually looking forward to getting to know Prowl. They had the time now, and the freedom to get to know one another without outside interference.

With that thought in mind Jazz gulped down the rest of his meal and got to his feet. "In fact, I think I’m gonna show him ‘round today, let'em see 'is new home."

"Don't leave the compound alone." Lady Moonracer warned, clearly concerned.

"We won't."

 

*****

 

Prowl sat in the quarters that were now his, contemplating the gameboard before him. Jazz had spent the day showing him around the compound that was now Prowls’ home as well, and then returned to the quarters that were supposed to be 'theirs'.

They had played another game of Sovereign, one that Prowl had barely won. His energy reserves had dropped to a level where his ability to focus was becoming impaired.

He had learned much about Jazz that day, and the more he learned the more he was ashamed. He was not who they thought he was. They were banking so much on him, and there was nothing he could do for them. This was not his world. He had no idea how to function in this role, as a noble. Heritage alone could not make you into something you were not. And if he admitted this fact it could cause so much damage, for Praxus, and most certainly for Polyhex.

His orders had been explained to him. He had accepted the assignment. And he hated himself for it. For once he should have said no. He should have refused the Lord of Praxus, no matter what the mech had done for him. He should have-. He stood and headed for the berthroom. Recharge, while not a total replacement for refueling, would help the state of his processer.

Walking past a mirror, his own reflection caught his attention, and he stopped. He didn’t really recognize himself anymore. The Enforcer decals, the one thing that had given him some sort of identity, were gone, stripped from him the orn he had arrived. The same orn he had been told the truth about who he was and where he had come from. The truth about his carrier and his past, the family that had never known and would still never really know. The same orn he had told that his new life was to be one of deception, to deceive as he had been deceived.

He hated it. And right now he would hate himself, if he could figure out just who he was.

 


End file.
